My chest tightened so suddenly it felt like the air disappeared. Tears filled my eyes. I covered my mouth, trembling.
No child deserved this. No child should sleep where even grown men would be afraid.
I stepped back before he could see me, and when I reached the main road, the tears came freely. Ugly, unstoppable tears.
When I got home, my mother knew immediately.
“What happened?” she asked, grabbing my shoulders. “Why are you crying?”
I told her everything.
She gasped softly and sat down like the story had weight. “A little boy living there alone…”
“Yes,” I whispered. “He has nobody.”
My mother’s voice was calm, but her eyes were burning. “Then God has placed him in your path for a reason.”
That night, I barely slept.
The next morning, I woke up with one clear thought.
David needed real help, and I could not ignore it.
Before opening the shop, I went to the market. I bought simple children’s clothes. A clean shirt. Shorts. Jeans. Shoes. Nothing expensive, just new enough to say: you matter.
I returned to the shop and arranged everything, checking the road every few minutes, imagining his smile when he saw them.
A little later than usual, I finally saw him running toward the shop, waving the same small hand he always waved.
My heart lifted.
Then everything happened too fast.
A car appeared suddenly, speeding far faster than it should. David stepped forward without noticing, still running, still smiling, still trusting the world too much.
The car didn’t slow down.
It didn’t honk.
It hit him.
